


Honeybee

by orphan_account



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Bellamy will fight anyone who lays a hand on his sister, F/F, F/M, FINN IS MENTIONED BRIEFLY, M/M, Octavia will fight anyone who lays a hand on her friends, Raven slays, Slice of Life, bellamy cant figure out if he's gay or not, jaha likes puns, jasper and monty are lowkey gay bffs, jasper is also v polyamorous, kind of, lincoln snorts when he laughs bc he's a dork, lincoln's a big softie, lincoln's native american, this is a mess, this is softcore aesthetics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 03:27:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7083298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lincoln would not consider himself an intimidating man; he ran a flower shop, was heavily involved in community affairs, and was known to feed stray cats, dogs, and whatever else.</p><p>Others, however, would beg to differ; he was tall, strong set and grim faced. The fact that he worked with flowers meant nothing when he looked as if he could kill you with just a tulip and his hands.</p><p>Octavia Blake, however, decides that either way, she's going to befriend this business owner-- it's the least that can be done when a gathering of friends results in sleep-deprived hysteria spilling from a just as known coffee shop.</p><p>( Abandoned, my dudes. I fell out of The 100 soon after starting this idea, my bad. )</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Lincoln was not an intimidating man. He fed strays, was well known in the community, and ran a flower shop. It wasn't a fancy one, or even a large one, but it was Lincoln's and he was content with that. It had its own personal flair, even if it wasn't much to look at-- most of what was in there he'd made himself, and decorations were either photographs taken by friends, or various things purchased from local artisans. 

Behind the counter, on the wall, various things were pinned across the chipped, pale yellow paint. Photographs of family, of friends, old notes in a cramped, blocky handwriting or newer ones he needed to remember, all pinned over one another. The space of wall between counter and door was covered in children's drawings, some yellowing at the ends from the age in them, and of course the windows were constantly being updated with things going on-- a fundraiser here, a talent show at the elementary school, the final game of the high school's season. The only thing that never raised its head was family; there were photos of others similar to him, sure, but nobody had the same face, that telltale resemblance, and if it was noticed by customers, they never mentioned it.

A good thing, too, since Lincoln would rather talk about friends, or the newest thing going on in town for schools rather than the lack of family photographs.

 

If you were to look out from the comfortable, homey feeling of Skaikru Flowers, and pass by the various shops beside it for a few steps, you'd find a coffee shop. A simple one, themed more about being able to be an escape from the city's noise than towards late nights and Macbooks, and one that had been a staple in Lincoln's life since he opened his own shop. There, that shop, was often where you could find Lincoln. Sometimes on slow days he'd stop by for a cup, and a conversation with Thelonious, or take solace in its wellworn chairs to catch up with friends (God knows he was glad to see Nyko drinking coffee he knew was well sourced, rather than instant chemicals), or even just to sit and think, hands tapping at the chipped ceramic mug as the gentle noise that accompanied shops went on around him.

Today, was, in fact, one of those days in which Lincoln decided that a break in Jaha's Java (A wry smile always came to mind, and a distinct voice of "It sounds fun, don't you think?") would be well appreciated, even if just so he could not think of picky brides for an hour. At least, that was the thought he had upon flipping the simple sign in his own window, even as he moved past street, smiling at those he recognized and nodding at any who greeted him, until it was banished by the sudden noise he was met with when pushing the door open to the aforementioned coffee shop.

Instead of the usual, fairly soft sounds of people co-existing, it seemed a group of college kids had pulled tables together, adjusted things well enough that it almost looked natural, too. The table clothes mixed together, the velvety green blending with other ends, coffees, clutter and phones held it all together, the laughter as nice a blend as the coffee was here. Taken aback only a second, a vague smile took Lincoln, then-- the level of comfort these kids had was a good display of how Jaha's usually was, a place run by family and made for these types of things. 

Eyes scanning the bar, reading the types out of habit despite long having committed them to memory, Lincoln kept the smile as Thelonious appeared from the curtained backroom, the sight of his friend completing the entire mood of the place. Calming, reassuring, and most of all meant to mean home, the Native man didn't think he'd ever seen the other as happy as he did now, eyes drifting from the group of college kids to Lincoln, large smile only increasing as he gestured the other over.

 

"I expected you earlier, Lincoln, truth be told." Came the greeting, even as the elder set to work on the regular, simple coffee Lincoln had always preferred. "Flowers not blending well enough?"

The jibe was good-natured, and a breath of a chuckle answered it, as Lincoln shook his head, leaning an elbow on the counter to continue talking with Thelonious.  
"In a way," He answered, eyes drawn sharply back to the group of kids as a bang sounded, one having evidently dropped his phone, judging by the laughter that followed, and it struck him how natural it felt. Hm. He'd need to get Nyko free sometime, and Anya too; he'd missed them, hectic schedules getting in the way as neither of them were their own boss. "More the customer, than the flowers, if I'm honest."

A clink by his elbow brought his eyes back to the side, a nod of thanks following even as Jaha looked to the group again, a fond smile creeping across aged features, and instead of leaving the counter, Lincoln simply wrapped a hand around the mug. A quiet silence remained, disturbed by the laughter and talk of the group, and mumbles of other regulars at their own tables. Few words ever did pass between Thelonious and him, Lincoln thought, sipping his coffee once it wasn't about to burn his mouth from the inside out, but then again did you ever really have to when the world around you spoke enough?

And, like the world is known for, time passed as it always did in Jaha's Java; another addition to the group, conversations with a few of the regulars who came and went, and once Lincoln found his cup empty and the clock reading just over an hour since he'd arrived, his time there that day ended with a nod to Thelonious and the tinkle of the bell as he stepped out again to the noise of the city around him.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For someone that responded to emergencies, and started them in her spare time, Raven Reyes was never that punctual-- everyone, of course, does not let her live that down, and Wells still remains quiet. He isn't thinking again, he just wants to enjoy the way this moment feels, how despite it all they really haven't changed all that much.
> 
> Wells, as he well knows, is a sap.

It was with a determined air that Wells stepped into the coffee shop, book bag slung over his shoulder and grey sweater hanging loosely open about him; he was not going to get distracted this time. Not now that he'd found better footing between his father and him, and definitely not now that his. . . group? Technically, he only knew half of them because of Clarke, but he'd found them agreeable enough, once given the chance to warm up to them. Either way, the fact that his group of friends had found time amid their odd schedules to take second half of the day for this, considering how long he'd been in Washington for his degree.  
After all, skype and text messages only went so far, even if they were far more convenient for the group.

 

The atmosphere hit the young man almost as soon as he entered the familiar establishment, and even if he'd had just as many bad memories of his father's business, there was one thing the blend of coffee, dust and thoughts always reminded him of: home. It was as strong as a gust of wind, and Wells didn't even try to not stop the smile the crossed his face, dark eyes shutting for a moment as he simply inhaled. God, there was nothing like the sharp feeling of nostalgia, especially when a voice broke through his moment of remembrance, just as familiar as the shop he now stood in.

"Wells!" His eyes opened, head turning to see the blonde by the window, hair falling from the mussed bun atop her head and blue eyes absolutely shining, leaning softly back on the table, dark sleeves pulled up to her elbows. "Help me pull these tables together, so all of us can squeeze in." Ah, nostalgia. Moving across the darkwood floor, Wells ducked his head under the strap of the bag, slinging it with a practiced ease over the back of the worn chair, a hand easily going to his old friend's shoulder, pulling the shorter into a one armed hug. He'd missed the blonde, he really had. 

Once the tables were aligned, and simple formalities had passed between them, it was a comfortable silence that spread, the chatter of others around them filling the space between them and taking the time they waited through. The entire thing felt like a trip down memory lane, from the tables they'd pulled to the woman Wells was sitting beside, trying her damndest to find a comfortable position with her feet pulled under her. Everything about it screamed to him of his childhood, of the days they'd spend planning stories or colouring, to how they'd sit after school to write homework and debate test scores. All of it was familiar, and became even more so when his father popped between them, setting mismatched mugs of steaming liquid in front of them, long since remembering their ever consistent orders, and retreating like he'd done for years back to tinker with whatever it was he was occupying himself with behind the counter. 

So many memories, Wells realized, had the tinge of coffee in them, the dark green and dark wooded furnishings of this place; so much of him, he realized, still existed here. So much of them, of those people who made up his world, and really he didn't think Arkadia would be Arkadia without this shop. A pang of sadness hit him, then, at that thought, but he pushed it away with a direct determination; he was not going to let thoughts like that ruin this meeting, not today, at least. Not this time.  
Instead, he simply nudged the blonde beside him, a crooked smile forcing one side of his lips up, eye narrowing from the glee in it.

 

"So, Clarke, any news on Hot Tattoo Girl? Or did you run off, again?" The teasing air of his voice was evident, and although his friend flushed, he knew that she wasn't truly that flustered; Clarke was a tough cookie, after all, and held her own more than people tended to expect her to. 

Instead, she simply elbowed him back harder, pushing some bangs out of her eyes as she shifted a bit again to face him more. "I've already told you that I figured her name out," She answered, to which Wells replied with a small snort, raising an eyebrow in an almost accusatory manner.  
"Hey, you were the one that debuted her as Hot Tattoo Girl, I'm only working off of the name I know her by best."  
Clarke simply rolled her eyes, ignoring her friend and continuing on with what she had begun with.

"And, I'll have you know, I've had two conversations with her to date." A hint of pride tinged her voice, then, and Wells had to stop himself from pinching her cheeks-- sure, he'd gotten over the crush twelve year old him had had on his friend long ago, but really, she was adorable sometimes, even knowing that she was training to work in morgues. Ugh, talk about creepy. 

"To date, or to, y'know, date date?" 

The voice was one that spoke of laughter, and maybe a bit of smoke, but one that far too often had spoken things that sounded that childish, even to the man it belonged to. Not that it bothered him much, however-- he'd always been one in his own world, marching to a beat he'd made himself that varied so often anyone who knew anything about music (not him) would even become confused. It was the only warning given, too, before Wells found himself the subject of a rather loving noogey, that ever familiar laughter following soon after.

The owner of the lanky arm and skinny hand responsible soon threw an equally skinny body into another of the chairs, returning the wave Thelonious gave, and directing brown eyes to the two now across from him, eyebrows raised nearly into his uncontrollable bangs. "Well? Don't leave me in suspense, Clarke!" 

A laugh from the blonde, and Wells' pencil flew across the table, bouncing off a boney shoulder before tangling in the lower regions of Jasper's wild curls, prompting a mock-offended gasp from the environmental-science major, and a sigh from behind them. As Clarke gave an answer that, from the tone Wells gathered, was dripping with sarcasm, he turned to glance over his shoulder at the man who had, evidently, either had enough of young people and decided to tell them something, or-- 

"And here I thought you wouldn't start the violence on Jasper without me. I'm hurt, Clarke, truly." 

Or it was Monty. The Korean man easily slid in beside them, breaching the gap between Jasper and Clarke, grinning at the other two in greeting and allowing his friend to sling an arm around him. Wells wasn't even sure if the line between friendship and relationship mattered to the two by him, but either way he didn't much mind; he'd known them since elementary school, and much like him and Clarke, they'd both grown up together. There had never really been a time he didn't remember one coming without the other, and it seemed they didn't, either, which could account for how comfortable they were with each other, but really nobody really believed it. They'd basically been a couple since they were kids, even if it was less on the romantic side of things. 

Those thoughts continued to run through Wells' minds, chipping in comments here and there, but for the most part simply listening. Simply enjoying. It had been far too long since he'd been able to do this, been able to relax and simply listen as people who meant so much spoke and laughed, and as tiresome as they got, he even had to admit to missing the dramatic flair that his friends had always brought to the table. It was great, it really was, and it wasn't long after Monty and Jasper that Octavia stomped in, followed closely by her brother. 

They were bickering, it seemed, but they were always bickering over something or another-- a sibling thing, he supposed, or maybe just a Blake thing, Wells didn't know. He just knew he could recognize the tones and way they spoke easily, something he'd done even more when Bellamy and Clarke had been together in high school. Octavia's was always lighter, always fiery and determined, while Bellamy's held something darker in it, that fire felt more like a blade, and of course it held the same determination as hers; they were both stubborn little shits, and anyone who met them would notice. Although they held the same general faces, and the same disposition, their greetings said more about them to an outsider than any amount of knowing them would-- not that Wells would discourage getting to know the siblings, each brought something new to the table of life, that couldn't be denied, but he'd known them since they'd moved in highschool; Bellamay had been a year above them, while Octavia was a year below them, and both were as fiercely independant of each other as they were dependant. And anyway, he was in a public place, so he was entirely entitled to look at his friends from an outsider's point of view if he felt the want to. 

Bellamy's greetings were easily, laid-back and almost always felt like something an older brother would give (fitting, they'd always thought, from the stories they'd heard the siblings tell). All handshakes and genuinely happy smiles, nods when he couldn't reach either and he'd bury himself easily into the flow of conversation; of course he would, he did that on a daily basis in his line of work. Octavia, however, was quick in them, a kiss on the cheek here, and quick noogey there, a tweak of the ear; it all seemed so specialized, so individual depending on the time, place and person she was greeting. While Bellamy would seem to relax int his chair as if he'd been there all along, Octavia flung herself into hers as if she hadn't had a chance to stop walking in weeks, one leg tucked under her and another up by her chin, smile bright and determined as she chipped in here and there in her hummingbird speed. It hadn't quite occurred to Wells how much he'd missed the stark difference in the stubborn siblings until now. 

It wasn't until they'd agreed that food was a good idea, before Jasper broke his phone (again) by dropping it and fumbling after it that the final member of their small group walked in, steps heavy but smile bright; Raven Reyes, engineering student and part-time helper at any damn construction site that didn't know what they were doing. The brunette was the newest one there, and not just concerning this meeting, having come in through Clarke after a problem that had hurt the both of them, and as was evident, brought the two women together as close friends now. Flopping easily into the last chair, heavy workboots dropping from dangling feet to the floor, the sight of one of her socks looking less like it fit well wasn't one that perturbed them. Raven's eyes flitted around the table, giving her own version of greeting, before they settled on Wells, red lips quirking into an even higher smile. 

"Well, well, Wells," She grinned, balling a napkin up to throw it at him, to which the white paper bounced off his shoulder, and into his lap. "You still haven't emailed me that video from the last time you were down. I'm truly insulted, what with how you wound me this way!" 

Wells tossed the napkin back, a lopsided grin and a shrug answering before they all found themselves lost in the flow of the meeting again, laughter spilling easily (and a bit noisily) from them. None seemed ready to look out of their little bubble, and of course nobody really found it fit to peer out of theirs, either. In fact, were it not for how Octavia's seat was, and the fact that Raven had just bee gesturing towards the man, the young woman was certain her interest would not have been piqued by anything but another memory that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont????? know??????
> 
> Im gonna make aesthetic boards for this fic, just you wait. Also, if u squint, there's a mention of Finn. He'll come up a bit later, maybe
> 
> To everyone who's given kudos or comments or even just viewed this fic before clicking out, you have no idea (or maybe you do, I wouldn't know) how much it means ;; w ;; Thank you so, so much for it!!

**Author's Note:**

> i dont even know if im gonna finish this but THERE IS SO MUCH GOING ON AND I NEED MY CHILDREN TO BE CONTENT FOR ONCE


End file.
